8543/Everyone Wants the Cutting Edge

Everyone Wants the Cutting Edge
Date of Scene:	04 November 2021
Location:	Flushing Meadows Park
Synopsis:	In which what starts as a heist ends in a rout. Reavers trying to upgrade their tech are thwarted by a demi-god, a half-alien, a mutant mage, and a Spider-Man.
Cast of Characters:	Hope Summers, Peter Parker, Conner Kent, Illyana Rasputina, Hercules

---

Hope Summers has posed:
The Hall of Science is closing for the evening, the crowds of academics, schoolchildren, and family vacationers shooed out in favor of a small number of security guards and after-hours staff. It's been extra busy lately, thanks to a traveling exhibit on new, cutting-edge cybernetics coinciding with a nearby medical conference. The future of medicine begins here!

The future is the sort of thing that Hope tends to worry about. After all, the future is (was?) her home. A future. Some future. Honestly, it takes a genius to understand it anyhow. What she //does// understand is that in her world, this was the sort of place where Reavers started to get their ideas...and their first rounds of supplies.

Which is why, as the sun sets and night falls around the museum, she's at a back entrance, quietly picking the locks. "I caught some chatter," she explains to Conner without looking up. "Message boards. Reavers, talking about getting one of the display pieces here. And this place is //not//," she finishes, the door clicking open, "Prepared for Reavers."

Peter Parker has posed:
Peter had visited the exhibit. It was for extra credit for the Man/Machine Interface course, but he had also found it personally fascinating.

He also knew how much it was worth, so it was on his "hot sheet" of potential alarms. So when a report of an access door being opened after-hours popped up in his HUD, he had webbed up the mugger and had fired a webline skyward. A few seconds later, he was headed for the Hall of Science at top speed...

Conner Kent has posed:
Conner was surprised when Hope asked him to go to... a science expo? Last year their relationship has been a bit awkward. Of course it is 'work', because it is usually work for Hope, despite sometimes saying she is on vacation mode after saving her homeworld. She is worse than Robin for some things.

Now, cybernetics are cool. As long they are not inside combat cyborgs trying to kill you. Aaaand... that is usually the case. "Between N.O.W.H.E.R.E. and Gamorra I have had my fill of murder-borgs for a lifetime," mentions the young half-Kryptonian. "Reavers? Those are racists murder-borgs, right? That is an extra level of fucked-up."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Why is it never ravers? Ravers would be a nicer option than cybernetically-enhanced creepy people. Glowstick wigs and bracelets are more forgivable sins than the other variety that requires oversight from a seasoned mutant. Their plan to rob a museum is proof positive that this is why Earth can't have nice things.

She slums it in the crowd atypically dressed down, having stolen a trenchcoat from the Sorcerer Supreme's closet and a pair of trainers to look more chill. Blending in isn't a forte but sunglasses can fix any sin, so she slows her roll down one of the paths meandering through the area around the museum. Out for an evening stroll, nothing is too out of the ordinary for another New Yorker to take their time. She has piping hot coffee to go, a thumb on her phone while checking movie listings and a video of cat wars on Christmas, totally disinterested in what's going on with the building dedicated to science and a throwback to the World's Fair. Anyone hiding out or planning on more novel ways of breaching the place are what she has an eye out for, since it's likely not a smash and grab. A Russian went to see, see, see...

Hercules has posed:
    Science, what a wonderful thing that mortals have conjured. Leave the earth for a century or two and the rules change drastically! There are better ways to do this, better mediums and mentors, but-

                                    HERCULES                                    
                                PRINCE OF POWER                                

Likes the spectacle and display of museums...

The touchy-feely childrens sections are especially delightful!

He was just being coaxed towards the exit by a slightly nervous staff member when word of a open door that was not at all supposed to be open came over the radio.

Trepidation passed over the staff member's face and Hercules smiled beautifically. His features beaming, cheeks rising to make his eyes narrow warmly. "Perhaps I should linger but a moment longer." supposed the Lion of Olympus.

Hope Summers has posed:
"Yep. With extra racism!" Hope grimaces, holding the door open long enough to let Conner in ahead of her (because why take potential fire when you brought a tank?). "I'd just like to point out that once again the people who are most mad about the existence of mutants are the people who are //mostly// jealous."

She tips her chin down the hallway after a brief upward glance as she goes over her mental map. "Should be this way. Guard schedules have everyone busy clearing the place out now, so if we time it right, should be a quick in and out."

Hope learned tactics and battle plans from the best. So usually she makes plans that assume a base level of competence. The problem in this situation is that the current batch of Reavers are...not big planners.

Or subtle.

So while Hope is starting down the hallway, outside the museum there's a deafening roar of motorcycle engines. Now sure, it could just be a particularly science-minded group of bikers! But on the other hand, the one at the lead doesn't actually //have// an other hand. He has a chainsaw hand. And he's not the only one with some unconventional prosthetics either.

Peter Parker has posed:
The event that brought him here was a small alarm on an access door, and that is what drew him to this place.

Unfortunately, it is quickly dwarfed when his Spider-Sense detects the weird futurepunk bikers and says HEEEEYYYYY, NOWWWWW...at top volume. In his head.

The access door can wait. Spidey swings around and heads back towards the gathering, landing on a street light to see better (and to be hidden by the light's glare). Almost immediately, the camera drone lifts off from his backpack and starts sweeping the scene, taking a lot of pictures.

Conner Kent has posed:
Well, Conner is not sure jealousness is the main problem. After all there are more than a few heroic cyborgs. Science (and loads of money) is a valid way to get superpowers. "I would argue about the root of their idiocy, but I am hearing tricked-up motorcycles coming too fast, and that is pretty suspicious," and he was paying attention to his supersenses this time, this is a mission.

"And pretty dumb," he adds, "I mean, in New York a noisy robbery in the middle of the day is going to draw superhuman attention."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Captain Saw is an unfortunate upgrade of Captain Hook, and not nearly as charming as Tim Curry in a dashing black wig. Extreme measures become necessary when the parade of bikers interrupt the park's somewhat sedate atmosphere, all the grumbling engines and rattling metal pipes too much like tractors for the farm-raised Siberian to like at all. Hairs rise on the back of Illyana's neck, and she shifts to face the noisy gathering with a frozen, distant look of contempt that may be resting default.

She slides a little more into the shadow, gaining some cover. This is why you wear black, it blends a lot better than a taupe coat.

She's still a bit far from the access door, flattening herself to the wall to await the death machines on wheels and wait for their next move. Fingers curling around thin air play true to Connor's warning, there's //definitely// superhero attention. Not just Spidey, either, but a connoisseur of sending a few random items hop-skipping across the ground to put a wobble in the motorcycles' style. A few neglected bottles, a squishy tube of paint to track wheels or feet, a couple sticks, and a newspaper flapping around on the breeze all get relocated directly into their path. That's right, the urban jungle turned against the Reavers, take that.

Hercules has posed:
    A large, mostly naked man in thigh-high strappy sandels, a skirt, and a sash had just rested a hand the size of a modest frying pan on a staffer's shoulder to try an sooth their disquiet. This effect is trampled upon by the roar of motorcycle engines and the sharp snarl of a chainsaw. Likely not powered by a gas engine but they have yet to produce such a thing that is anything you might call quiet. Hercules furrowed his brow, lips thinning. What the devil could be going on? Who would target such a place of learning and wonder.

"Perhaps another time then." he responded to the as of yet, unspeaking staff member. With a gentle pat upon their shoulder, Hercules strode away and out of the doors, a point of bouyant calm in a tide of people that had a very strong interest in not being around to find out what the Scion of Zeus meant to, well, find out.

"Hail friends!" came the greeting from the burly god as he emerged, arms spread wide and beaming.

"It is to my sorrow that I must say the Center of Science is closedfor this day. You must seek the gift of knowledge else where this night!"

Hope Summers has posed:
"The worst ones are the bomb-heads," Hope points out to Conner with a dry look, continuing purposefully down the hallway. As they reach an intersection, she presses herself against the wall, checking the crossing before she continues forward. "Bomb-heads," she repeats. "Which are exactly what they sound like. So. Extrapolate their decision-making skills from there."

If they've already arrived though, that's put a timer on her mission. She needs to get that tech and get out. At the next cleared intersection, she breaks into a jog toward the display room.

Outside, the motorcycle crew looks to be around a dozen men and women. At a casual glance they could pass for a particularly metal-heavy biker gang. But to those more used to dealing with trouble, they've got all the markers. Several have odd, weaponized prosthetics in place of a hand. One looks like he's wearing an oversized, heavy metal visor that wraps all the way around his head. Another, when the rest turn their motorcycles amidst the trash attack...doesn't seem to move the same way. Anyone looking closely enough might realize that's probably because there seems to be some sort of fusion going on here.

For a moment, it looks like they might think twice about the fact that there's a demi-god blocking the way. But Hope had some very valid points. With no further commentary or explanation, the man in the metal visor revs his engine and charges forward on his bike.

As he nears Hercules, a blinking light pops up on the visor: 00:01.

***KABOOM!!!!***

Peter Parker has posed:
*Holy cow, someone blew up the Wall of Testosterone!*

Okay, it may not be very flattering, but when you see a biker drive up to a guy who looks like he could give Superman a hard time...and subsequently blow up...Stupid Mouth just HAS to take its time to shine.
At least, he didn't say it out loud.
At this point, it's down to damage control...y'know, before they need to call Damage Control.

Another biker suddenly gets yoinked up off his bike and wrapped up in a web cocoon. As he does, his captor calls out, "Hey! The New York Costume Con isn't for another couple of MONTHS!"

Conner Kent has posed:
"No way there are Reavers dumb enough to use their heads as bombs," states Conner about three seconds before metal-visor cyborg charges Hercules and explodes.

Conner's jaw drops, "that is new level of messed-up; I better stop them before they kill someone else!"

That means he takes off and moves to intercept the bikers, and keep them away from the 'civilians'. Fortunately he was wearing the 'uniform'. Which is pretty easy to do when it is just a black t-shirt with the famous red S, and a leather jacket.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Damage Control must already be receiving notices at their Flatiron District headquarters. Someone's probably on the horn yelling about it now.

The explosion sends a shockwave of sound and force blowing out from the epicenter, and Illyana might almost have time to thank her accursed stars it's not her at point blank range. The blast slams her back into the wall she already leaned against, the Doctor's trenchcoat flapping about. Throwing her hand forth forms a round incandescent shield to deflect the worst concussive force away from her and the building. Practice makes perfect when it comes to defending the common good, even if a Hell-Lord typically avoids such things.

Space and time start to fold, the other dreaded ability locked into her birthright coming to life as a pale line starts to form under one of the motorcycles.

Hercules has posed:
    Hercules had this all plotted out in his head. After so many encounters with biker archetypes, it was fairly easy to do. Someone would charge. Some would circle. There'd be chains and pipes, maybe even some banter! he'd get to work in a line about 'The Gift of Battle!' He always loved doing that. It's why he was smiling so broadly when the first one twisted their throttle.

The smile on his face faltered when the countdown flashed to life on the biker's helmet.

A brow arched, his lips pouted, screwing up in confusion and mild concern.

All was explained when the Bomb-Head bloomed into a fireball.

Razor sharp shrapnel rushed against Hercules' divine hide, blunting and falling away. The concussive blast was less easily soaked. Unbraced, the god of poor choices is hurled back whence he came, smashing through freshly locked doors, most of a motorcycle plastered to his chest. A burning wheel turns idly from one end, the other wheel goes bouncing off into obscurity.

Brows and beard singed, Hercules peers towards the cieling bemused. "Unexpected..." he confessed.

Luckily, Hercule's war skirt and sash were blessed with divine protections. So when he waded out into the open air, wielding the remains of the bomber's ride in one hand and slightly on fire, he was not fully exposed to the elements.

"What he was, was annoyed!

"If you will not indulge me in not even just a bit of prefunctory banter, neither shall I!" he bantered. "Have at you!" he bellowed as he charged in, swinging the bike around in a broad stroke from left to right.

Hope Summers has posed:
Hope winces as she hears the explosion - no super hearing needed for that. "Yep, I've got this," she assures Conner, continuing into the display area. Off to one side there's a display with a microchip. Just a microchip! Not all the macguffins are big and impressive, apparently. While the Reavers outside start their assault, Hope gets to the fiddly bits, working on breaking into the display.

Once the bomb-head has done his work, the other Reavers break out in their wordless war cry, all charging on motorcycles toward the entrance.

Peter Parker has posed:
Great. A bunch of rogue elements and it's just him and...

Hang on. The guy didn't die?
<POSITIVE ID: HERCULES> appeared on Spider-Man's HUD.
"NOW you tell me!" He looked to the left as someone charged out of the Hall of Science and OH MY RUDY izzat the House of EL on his chest?
*And I'm dating his relative. Maybe shouldn't mention that out lo...*

*...why is the ground glowing under that bike?*

He looked down and saw some woman in biker leathers and two sharp blades jutting from her elbows and webs her up, bike and all, filling the exhausts to be sure.

*What in the name of Jim Belushi is going on??*

Conner Kent has posed:
Conner is very relieved to see no-shirt-man Hercules is still alive. He kicks one of the Reavers off his bike and punches a chainsaw off the arm of another (along with most of the bionic arm). Then he spots Spiderman and almost gets run over. Actually the bike crashes against his back pretty messily.

Conner has no idea he is dating a relative. But it is Spider-Man!

Fortunately the crowd is clearing the area and the Reavers are mostly attempting to get into the building. It makes the task of keeping them away from Hope much easier.

Hercules has posed:
    Hercules waded into the throng, swinging fist and bike alike with careless abandon. He was a legend, a God, lasers, tasers, and rocket launchers could only do so much... but Hercules knew that legends had to be epic, tales and adventures had to be daring amazing. Maybe when a club swing in and smashed against his jaw, he over-sold it, head snapping aside, the Prince of Power staggered.

Chains jangled and jingled, whirled overhead and then lashing out to loop around first one arm and then another.

One biker turned east, one turned west. Their tires squeeling as they tried to free Hercules of his mighty arms!

Gripping the chains, the Lion of Olympus' arms were spread wide, his face a picture of pain and effort, muscles straining beneath his flesh.

And then, like mountains raising up from plains, Hercules -Flexed- and his muscles swelled, yanking the bike from beneath the riders and smashing them together with explosive results!

Over the crack of gunfire, the report of lasers, snarl of saws, and various other things, there came a booming, joyeous laughter. Deep and hearty, lifting into the air.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Silver fire ignites a clear indigo blue when space rips an aperture as long as the wheelbase for the motorcycle, and a different gravity in Limbo asserts itself over a Reaver before they can gun it. If only faeries snatched up the good little cybernetic extremist, but the reception on the other side will be terribly eager as the Demon Queen delivers //toys// to all the good little boys and girls. Toys, plural, because why stop at one?

Illyana spot-checks that Hercules hasn't been put out of commission when he calls out, and the cracking noise of a motorcycle unsuccessfully colliding with Conner is... something to sort out later. How many people prove immune to fast-moving objects around here? She dashes away from bikers who might accelerate straight into her, flinging another portal directly in their way so even braking is sure to skid one at speed into her home dimension. With any luck, that one will go right into a dry lakebed.

"You use that well, da?" she calls to Hercules amidst smashing and squealing of metal. The third portal is well on its way to opening to spare her getting glass in her hair.

Hope Summers has posed:
The Reavers came here prepared for a couple of security guards. They did not come here prepared for gods, aliens, magic, and Spider-Man. To their credit (?), they don't show much fear despite the heavy odds. One in webs, one bomb-head in pieces, one chainsaw-hand on the ground, two chain-bound bikers stunned in the wreckage of their mighty steeds, and two with new quarters in limbo leave the Reavers reduced by more than half, but they're not the sort to give up.

"Jump on, Jim!" shouts the Reaver who's fused to his bike, and a man with what looks like body armor actually integrated into his skin jumps onto the back of the bike, pulling out an overly large gun from the saddlebag.

"For humanity!" Jim roars as the bike-taur revs and speeds toward Hercules and Connor, firing off shots of some sort of energy from the gun.

Meanwhile, back inside, Hope pulls out a swipe-card pulled from a desk in passing on her way in, scanning it by the display to unlock it. A few mirrors and an Indiana Jones later the microchip is in her pocket and the display is undisturbed.

"How's it going out there?" she asks in a low tone, trusting Conner's senses to pick it up.

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man spots Mr. For-Humanity jumping on the back of the bike, then drops to the street and fires two weblines at Jim, sticking the other ends to the street.

Which result in Jim jumping OFF the back of the bike. To be fair, he didn't MEAN to, but he did anyway.
Another wide web-blast and Jim has been sidelined for good. Spidey looks down at him and can't help but ask:

"Who the Sam Hill are YOU guys??"

Conner Kent has posed:
"Everything is fi..." Conner closes his mouth. He has his comm. unit turned off, and as far as he knows Hope is not even carrying hers. He didn't expect them to have to be separated, and he can feel Tim's disapproval all the way from Gotham. Poor planning, Conner. Even though Robin doesn't know what is going on yet.

Instead he punches the Reaver that drove his bike on his back before he can shoot him with some kind of grenade launcher. In close quarters, the nutcase.

Hercules has posed:
    "I know no other way!" reported Hercules in a joyeous bellow.

All was going swimmingly! And then Jim jumped on.

The energy weapon wouldn't be enough to punch through the thick hide of an Olympian but it was enough that Hercules no longer had to 'sell'. The blasts hit hard, putting Hercules on his heels with each shot. It was like a good, stiff punch from a titan. The Olympian held up his hands to shield himself.

Hercules was about to have to try. Throw something, stomp, clap, some super-strength nonsense. But with two 'thwips', Hercules was suddenly faced with just a man fused to some wheels.

Hercules smiled, wide but mean... and he extended his arm, digging in his heels for a clothesline to seperate man from machine.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Hate group!" Illyana answers to Spidey, at least managing to provide a general explanation of the Reavers' purpose and outlook on life in the minimum number of words needed.

Half of the Reavers up is still half too many. It's all fun and games with a Greek god and a Kryptonian -- it still only counts as half, but that's a lot as a half! She wedges her heel against the ground and crosses her hands in front of her, moving swiftly in sharp, quick gestures. A ribbon of bright energy lashes out, striking serpent-quick at another motorcycle's back wheel to pull it out from under the biker. Clearly stealing moves from Doctor Strange for anyone who knows his trademark art, she flicks her fingers up and the ribbon goes with it to hang the bike midair. And maybe the cybernetically enhanced meathead, unless they make a poor life choice like trying to hurt another. There is a solution for that.

A chorus of demons who really, really want to practice their screeching Alvin and the Chipmunks jingles to an audience. For twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without end.

Hope Summers has posed:
Well, the explosions sound promising anyhow. Hope doesn't really //need// to hear the response to know that. What she needs now is an exit strategy. The swipe-card is dropped into a trashcan as she makes it back toward the front of the museum. Heroes on scene, check. Reavers...looking pretty slim at this point.

"We," wheezes Jim at Spider-Man's question, "Are //humanity//! We're the real next evolution! And we did it ourselves!" Not that you can't tell. It's pretty clearly a DIY job up in here.

Hercules on the other hand is in for a surprise. There's no separating man from machine with what's barrelling toward him. When the torso hits the demi-god's arm, instead of a man flying off the bike, the whole apparatus goes swinging around his arm like a gymnast on the high bar. A lesser hero might have lost his arm!

Illyana's crimson band does it for the last, and all that remains are groaning, restrained would-be cyborgs just as Hope slips out the back door again. "Mission accomplished," she murmurs, picking a path back toward the front.

Conner Kent has posed:
Mission accomplished? Well, not quite. Conner would rather have all the Reavers in the hands of the cops before he leaves the scene. That means he will try to catch up with Hope later in the evening.

For now, he flies up, to scan where all the remaining Reavers are, and then charges the most dangerous-looking one.

Peter Parker has posed:
Spider-Man looked down at Jim, then at his "enhancements."

As he sends a call to the NYPD, complete with codes and all, he says, "Buddy...you got a BUG in your program."

Well, no civilians got hurt, so this is firmly in the Win column. But he takes scads of pictures, far-away and close-up, of the body mods.

This bears further analysis.

Hercules has posed:
    With one biker working his arm like a swing bar, Hercules waited for the final dismount that would get no points from the russian judge.

Rotating his arm, shoulder left slightly stiff. Hercules looked up and surveyed the scene... and was curiously absent when police decided to show up.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Transporting the Reavers to an afterlife of endlessly terrifying singing is an option. An option that will get her a disappointed look from the person who counts, so Illyana blows out a breath. So much for the easy path out.

"Sticking circuits in your body does not make you an evolution." Jim may disagree. Jim's opinion hardly matters, though. Without a word, she pushes up her sunglasses (at night...) and continues on her way. Where did that coffee go?